Overgrown
by phlossie
Summary: Sometimes, we get what we want because we deserve it. - A series of works, each chapter an individual fic which can be read independently of the other chapters, all are written to time with the songs on James Blake's album Overgrown. It is recommended that you listen to the music as you read.
1. Retrograde

_Authors note: This fic was written to time with Retrograde by James Blake, hence the title. If you are a moderately fast reader then I would highly recommend you find yourself a copy of Retrograde (as performed for his Album 'Overgrown') and listen to it with the fic - that is, start the song as you start reading, and you'll hopefully finish reading as the song finishes! I would include a link to the song, which I have posted on my tumblr, but ff wont let me. Sorry. (a link to my tumblr can be found on my profile)._

 _Hope you enjoy and as always, please, please, please feel free to leave a review!_

* * *

It was in the moments of quiet, after the battles, after the pack left, after he came down from the adrenalin rush.

In that crystal calm he would allow himself to imagine it.

Curling around him on the couch, letting the tiredness wash out the fear as the shaky reality of survival set in. Being there when the last of the adrenalin shook from his fingertips, being there to press kisses to his tired eyelids, to let him know it's finally okay to give in, to let the walls down.

In those moments he would ache to feel the heaviness settle from his bones, to let the gentle lull pull him out of his head.

It was the only rest he found, those precious moments of tranquility after the storm.

They'd stare out into the star studded trees and watch the soft grey light of predawn draw the outline of the horizon.

Their lives would never be that simple.

* * *

Stiles pushed his way past the congregation of wolves in Derek's living room.

It was the summer of their graduation. He was going to UC in Fall, Scott had been offered a place at a medical school less then thirty miles away; he kept delaying his decision, but everyone knew he'd take it in the end because Isaac was going to a college in the same town. Lydia was going to Harvard.

He didn't know what Derek was going to do, he'd said something about getting a flat in Phoenix once.

He dropped his offering of wolfsbane infused vodka on the bench, they were having a kind of celebration tonight, Kira finished her last exam the previous tuesday, so everyone was finally free of their Lydia approved study timetables. There was already a fairly substantial collection of bottles crowding the table top.

"I hope you put the right amount in this time." Derek loomed out of the corner, a habit they still hadn't managed to break him of, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Of course I did Sourwolf. You just cant hold your liquor."

Derek raised an eyebrow.

"Stiles!" Scott called from across the living room. "Com'ere!"

* * *

There was glitter on his carpet, multicolored spill marks that almost made the faint blood stains disappear.

It was going to be hell to get out.

Maybe he'd just leave it.

Stiles would probably find it funny.

"So, that went well..."

He turned and shrugged, Stiles was munching on a piece of pizza and leaning on the kitchen counter like he belonged there. It was disconcertingly familiar.

"I mean, no one went through the window this time, and there were no accidental gorings." Stiles waved his pizza pragmatically, shrugging into his point. "You seemed to enjoy it."

Derek went to find another bottle of beer.

Stiles went over to the television and perused his DVD collection.

"Oh ho! You have an Anderson collection! Derek, you never told me you were a hipster!"

When he came back to the couch and sat down Stiles was already rolling the opening credits.

He barely even registered the movie, because the moment he sagged onto the tired cushions, Stiles shuffled across and settled himself comfortably against his side. He let the warmth seep into his bones and the tension slide off his shoulders.

He didn't wake again until the room lit up with grey dawn light. Stiles was tucked under his chin, fingers loosely curled into his shirt. They'd oozed into a horizontal position during the night, and Derek's feet were slung off the edge of the couch to accommodate Stiles'.

Something settled in his chest and he realized; it was perfect, everything he had ever thought it would be. The breathtaking simplicity of Stiles in the morning light, sleep warm and resplendent.

"Mmm, G'm'rn'n" Stiles scrunched himself into Derek's chest, pressing his face into his sternum.

"Morning." He slid his arm from where it was slung over the small of his back, up to his shoulder blades and rubbed soothing circles there. His heart in his throat and his body thrumming with anxious anticipation.

"Hey" Stiles lifted his head, shifting so he was lying flat against Derek's chest "Hey" and forced him to meet his gaze.

Derek wondered if he could see it written on his face; the terrified hope.

He let his head fall forward, gently resting it against Derek's, he smiled "It's okay."

He grazed his fingertips against the strip of flesh below Stiles' ribs, and let the heaviness settle form his bones, let Stiles pull him out of his head.

"I love you."

And it was easy, not the way he'd thought it would be. Screamed over the roar of a fight, or rushed between those last few precious breaths, torn from him by fear of the should haves.

No, it was calm, replete, built on possibility.

A tiny smile curled around the corners of his spotted face, his eyes sparkled. "I know."

A bubble of laughter tickled its way up Derek's throat, but Stiles pressed forward before it surfaced, vanishing all thought, lighting up the furl of warmth tucked beneath his ribs and making his fingertips tingle.

The bones of his chest ached with how full he felt, like his skin was too small, and nothing, no imagining, nothing, could ever have prepared him for this. For the reality of Stiles, the perfection, the imperfection, the tiny nip he left on Derek's bottom lip as he pulled away, the perfect slide of his nose against his cheek. The cheeky grin he flashed to hide the niggling anxiety he still felt, and the soft kiss Derek pressed to his chin to abate it.

"I love you too."

And it was all he needed, as the sky bloomed into sunrise, to see Stiles' face light up with it too.


	2. DLM

_Authors notes: As with Retrograde, this is written to time with James Blake's DLM, go grab urself a copy!_

* * *

It was in the Fall of 2023 that he turned up on his doorstep. It was out of a kind of melancholic desperation and something not unlike hope. An internal longing left to fester into action.

His beard was shaggy, his clothes were tattered, his eyes were grey around the edges and his skin had a permanent layer of city dust ground into its pores, but Stiles just stood to one side and motioned him in.

He slung his ratty duffle bag to one side as he was led down the hallway.

A thirty minute hot shower, five disposable razors and a cooked breakfast later he was starting to feel human again.

Stiles was still alone, older, wiser, more reserved, but alone.

Or at least he thought so until a plump tabby wound it's way between his legs.

There was a row of potted plants along the kitchen window sill.

They watched each other like old dogs, wary, mildly antagonized, but too argute to make the first move. They stayed that way, carefully circling one another for weeks. Stiles disappeared, sometimes for days on end, and Derek would watch Spanish soaps and pet Charles.

The flat progressed slowly but steadily towards tidy.

A month in, he woke in the night with a terrible pain in his chest, an ache like he'd never felt it before. Piercing his skin and tearing though the tissue and fibre underneath. Stiles was with him in moments, pushing him back onto the couch and pressing over the long healed wound. Cursing and muttering as sweat beaded and dripped down his face. After a moment the pain subsided, the ache dissolved.

After the second time, Stiles dragged him down the hallway by his limp tingling hand and pushed him onto the bed. Shoving until he moved to the side and settling with his back turned, sheets pulled up around his chin.

He was gone when he woke, but Charles was twitching his tail across the duvet as he luxuriated in a wandering sun patch.

By silent agreement they shared the bed.

Stiles began to spend his evenings sitting against the headboard, spine curled around a tome, fingers running wildly across the pages. Derek would absently peruse cooking magazines, while Charles half heartedly battled with the wrinkles in the sheets.

When Derek woke, Stiles would be there. Skin colored gold with the morning, dark black ink spiraling across it in patterns he couldn't begin to fathom.

In late July Stiles got up at first light, Derek rousing only slightly as the bed dipped and sprung with his weight.

When he dragged himself from the comfort of their den he found him cross legged on the kitchen floor, the plants on the windowsill spilling over the sink and up the walls. Fruit dragging their verdant tendrils downward at the ends.

They made chutney together in the afternoon.

Charles found a small tomato to chase across the floorboards.

Stiles kissed him as stray juice followed the curve of his arms down to pool by his elbows.

They strayed out onto the fire escape in the golden light of the evening and told each other stories of the future.

* * *

 _Authors notes: Please feel free to leave a review!_


	3. I Am Sold

_Author's notes: In case you missed it, this is another fic written to time with a song - 'I am Sold' by James blake. :)_

* * *

He'd had lost all sense of self in the Pens.

Dissolved into the rhythm of obedience under the runners and sellers, unmoved by the brutality.

It wasn't his first time, nor would it be his last.

He'd forgotten what the forest felt like under his paws.

* * *

It had been an accident, Lydia had only wanted him to get a feel for the place.

He hadn't meant to buy.

He felt ill.

The Were' was perched precariously on the couch. Whole body tensed, like he expected to be struck at any moment.

Stiles didn't know what to do.

* * *

"Will you be okay?"

The barest of nods.

* * *

He didn't know what to do, alone in the house. It was huge.

His owner had told him how to use the big blank walls as screens, how to raise or lower the temperature, alter the light levels, change the appearance of the room.

He lay on the squashy white floor and studied the perfect white ceiling.

Hours later he was woken by the faint whirr of the door. He froze where he was, waiting for the yelling to start.

His owner just strode past, muttering to no one.

* * *

"I don't know what to do Lyds! He just shrinks into himself whenever I try to talk to him. God, I want to strangle whoever made him this way!"

"Its gonna take time, you remember how aggressive Jackson was at the beginning, you have to show him you aren't going to hurt him. He'll come round... Does 'he' have a name by the way?"

* * *

"A name?" He asked, startled out of his silence.

Did he have a name...?

Once, a long time ago...

* * *

"Derek"

"Oh, well, Hello Derek, I don't believe we've been properly introduced, I'm Stiles."

He stared at the offered hand until it was awkwardly retracted.

* * *

"Can I go outside?"

Stiles startled off the recliner, shucking his Ipage onto the coffee table where it scattered out into a multipage spread.

"Uh, yeah" He'd never actually opened the doors, but he knew he had a backyard somewhere. Lydia had said it was something people of his station should own.

He found the right wall panel to swipe after a few goes and it lifted away, disappearing into the ceiling cavity with a barely audible hiss.

The Were- Derek, stepped out onto the lightly dewed grass and stared up at the stars. Stiles was captivated by his expression, the first real feeling he'd seen on the Werewolf's face since his arrival.

It could only be described as rapture.

* * *

The next evening Stiles returned home to find the whole back of the house open to the lawned hill that ran down from it's footings to a large stand of trees. The evening light was streaming into every crevice of the building and Derek was spread out on the grass, almost as if he had grown into it.

* * *

That night Stiles lay on his bed and wondered where he had come from, where Derek's family was. It wasn't a thought that had ever crossed his mind, the existence of Werewolf families, but he was sure they must exist.

He didn't think it was something he could ask.

Not yet.

* * *

He was going a little out of his mind with boredom.

Finding the grass had been a welcome reprieve from the unending whiteness, but the tag kept him from straying far from the house and he couldn't get anywhere near the forest.

His owner seemed far more interested in his bit of electrified plastic than in him though and for that he was grateful. He avoided asking questions lest he break the delicate calm.

It would not be the first time he had been lulled into a false sense of security.

* * *

Lydia had suggested he should take Derek somewhere.

Where though; where would he want to go, surely not back to any of the places he had been.

Stiles still thought it was too early to bring up family.

He stood at the kitchen island and watched Derek sitting on the edge of the decking, legs dangling over the side.

He was watching the trees at the bottom of the yard.

* * *

The green light under the trees made him feel like he was underwater. He'd never stood amongst so many before.

"Do you maybe want to, I don't know, um, run or something?"

Derek shot him the strangest of looks, then pointed at the band of light blue light under the skin around his wrist.

Stiles looked at it bewildered for a moment before he remembered. "Oh, right I'll-" He reached out tentatively, asking for permission to touch.

Derek watched him with a passive mask.

"Set Distance: unlimited." It beeped and flashed and in a moment Derek was gone.

Stiles didn't know what he had expected.

* * *

Derek didn't know what he'd expected.

Certainly not this... not complete freedom.

He wondered how long it would take the chasers to catch him.

* * *

Stiles walked back to the house in the morning sun.

* * *

The forest pattern was familiar under his paws, the path well trodden now, but today he followed a scragglier route. Twigs and bits still strewn where in other places they had been ground down or kicked away.

He was still there, sitting on the hill, plastic in hand.

The house behind him flooded with afternoon light.

* * *

Lydia stopped asking.

* * *

It was the new moon.

Derek stood in the shadow of the trees and looked up at the ghostly house. A gaping black hole marred its side, It had not closed since he left.

* * *

The bed dipped gently and he roused, blinking blearily into the darkness, the Starlight coming through the transparent wall leaving a lot to the imagination, but a warm, strong hand found its way into his.

The ghost of a breath sent chills across his skin.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"Thank you."

"It's okay."

* * *

 _Author's Notes: hope you enjoyed it, please, please, please leave a review._


	4. Our Love Comes Back

_Author's Notes: Written to time with James Blake's ' Our love Comes Back' its a little bit short, so read slowly? sorry... Also for sterek week 2015, so it occurs as a chapter in both collections! :) xxx_

* * *

Stiles tries not to scream, he hates it. Hates the spike of fear it sends through the house, the way his dad will rush to his room looking panicked and half awake.

He dislikes dealing with it on his own, but it's better than having to speak, having to vocalize what he's seen.

With Derek it's different. He will jerk awake at the scream, startled into consciousness, but he doesn't panic. Has never panicked, has never looked at Stiles with wide, terrified eyes and asked him to stop. Has never said no, not even when Stiles told him how he died. He barely flinched, just nodded and smiled softly and curled around him like everything would be okay.

With Derek everything was okay.

Stiles has found that the visions are less scary when he is in Derek's bed. He still downloads them, sends them to Danny for processing, but he doesn't get that hot sick feeling when he has to re-live them for the chip.

Derek is always there beside him, calm, collected, solid.

During the day he works at a small bookshop. Stiles likes to sit in the window and read while he shelves and catalogues. The smell of old dust and paper so strong it wipes out the sense memory. The worlds between the covers promising intellectual escape.

Sometimes they go for walks, strolling hand in hand, letting the world go by.

Stiles isn't allowed to do anything until he turns Twenty-three, or has his first lapse. Whichever comes first.

He tries not to feel bitter about it, but up till senior year he was going to be a forensic psychologist.

Then, ironically, he'd seen his first murder and it all came tumbling down around his ears.

Derek had studied once, he was carefully vague about it and Stiles was just as happy to let him be. If he hadn't stopped they wouldn't have met and Stiles would still be living at the institute, sleeping his days away and screaming his nights into dawn.

It was easier, in a difficult sort of way, to be here with Derek.

On the nights that he doesn't see, he pretends it's all over. That their lives have returned to normal and they can start living again.

Sometimes the idea terrifies him, because when it's all over, Derek might not stay… not once Stiles is normal, when the agitation and anxiety and restlessness continue even though the visions don't.

Everyone gets sick of it- of _him,_ eventually.

But when he does sleep, deep and dreamless, it's always the promise of company in the morning that lets him rest.

It doesn't worry him the way it should, the broken way they fit. Like chipped pieces of a smashed in window, sharp and vicious, transparent to all those around them.

Derek doesn't care that Stiles body shakes with experiences beyond its years, Stiles loves that Derek's fits perfectly around the curve of his. Filling the spaces left by false memories.

It's difficult not to feel hopeless when you can see everyone's ending before you even get to start.

He'd do anything to let in a little light, just to see it fracture through the broken shards that make them up and watch the prism dance across his eyelids like late morning sun. It might help with the belly deep ache, the heaviness in his limbs. One day he will start living; and it will be a wonderful thing.

The one time Stiles asked Derek what he would be doing if none of this ever happened. If Stiles had never fallen out of his car in the middle the Walmart carpark and screamed into his shocked face. If Stiles had never taken so many inhibitors he'd had a waking vision. If Derek hadn't forgotten to get Laura's Jalna. The one time Stiles unsubtly asked what Derek would rather be doing: He stared intently into his face, pushed him firmly back until he hit the wall and kissed him until his head spun, his knees shook and his chest ached with wanting.

There's nothing sexual, though, about the way Derek curls around the space between Stiles shoulder and thigh. No heat in his hands when they press firmly, insistently, constantly against his body. It is a possessive touch without smothering, careful but not ineffectual, both heavy and light; and able to make Stiles whole. Derek can bring his thundering heart to a standstill just by touching his arm, he can communicate his worry, concern, desire, with just a look. He lets Stiles feel and be and _heal_ any way he needs to, any way he can and Stiles wouldn't rewrite this future for the world.


	5. Life Round Here

The leaving is the worst.

He hates it.

The way it makes his insides twist.

That might be the thrust from the engines propelling them into the air though.

Every time they touch down he feels like he can breathe again.

Its not quite what he thought it would be, the hours are long, he doesn't get much sleep, and he sees the inside of a lot of hotel rooms.

And taxis.

He still hasn't stayed anywhere long enough to do more than the most popular tourist attractions, learn 'hello' and 'goodbye' and 'thank you'.

Still, its better than rotting into the scenery back home.

The safety tone bongs and he unbuckles his seatbelt, getting up as Suleena announces that a refreshments cart will be coming around shortly, and could passengers please remember to keep their seat-belts fastened while seated.

He goes to the tiny kitchen and unfastens the trolley, checking there are enough paper cups for economy.

* * *

It's squalling when they arrive, and the plane makes six rounds of the circuit before they can land.

The passengers all clap when the wheels touch down.

Stiles just frowns through his migraine.

* * *

Derek is waiting with a soft smile in the arrivals lounge when he gets out a half hour later.

"Hi"

"Hi"

"How was the flight?"

He takes Stiles' bag.

"Long."

And they walk towards the exit.

* * *

Derek's wipers make a shushing sound as they drive, Stiles can feel his eyelids trying to close, the itch of his uniform almost ignorable through the fatigue.

"I got your card today."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm" Derek flicks the indicator to turn down their street. "How long you been up?"

"Um…" Stiles checks his watch. "Almost Nineteen hours."

Derek nods, pulling up to the curb. Stiles starts to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"Hang on, I'll get the umbrella."

He goes around the car to hold it over Stiles as he gets out, handing it to him when he goes to pull his suitcase out of the trunk.

"Thanks."

He smiles again.

* * *

"What time do you want me to wake you?" He hovers by the doorframe.

"Um…" Stiles rubs his eyes, feeling his spine settle against the mattress. "Seven? I probably shouldnt…"

"Oversleep"

"Yeah that."

Derek chuckles. "See you at Seven then."

"Night"

"Night Stiles."

* * *

He wakes up slowly, eyes focusing blearily on Dereks face and then on the digital clock next to the bed.

"You let me keep sleeping." He mumbles indignantly through a yawn.

Derek smiles and puts a mug of coffee on the bedside table. "Breakfasts in the kitchen."

Stiles nods, struggling upright on his elbows and grabbing the mug. "Mmmmmmm, they do not make it this good in Romania."

Derek snorts, settling on the end of the bed by Stiles' feet. "They don't make it this good anywhere."

"S'true."

Maude trots into the room and leaps onto the comforter, beelining up the bed to settle across Stiles middle.

Derek chuckles.

"Hello Muds" Stiles settles back on the pillows so he can scratch her chin and sip his coffee at the same time.

"She missed you again… I found her in your sock drawer on Tuesday, still don't know how she got in there."

Stiles grins at his cat, poking her nose. "Did you miss me Muddles?"

She mewls reproachfully and he goes back to scritching her neck.

Derek thumps his ankle and gets up. "Better make sure I haven't burned your eggs."

"Mmkay, Be there in a bit."

Derek waves his assent as he leaves the room.

After a moment Stiles carefully moves Maude off his stomach and heaves himself upright, she meows again, but stays where he put her, eyes following him around the room as he finds some sweats.

"S'all right Muds, I'm not going again for a while yet."

She mrows and stretches out in his warm patch, just the tip of her tail flicking.

* * *

Derek waves his egg flip at the bench when Stiles walks in. "Sit, it's almost ready."

Stiles pulls out a stool. "How's the shop?"

"Same as always. Mrs Peterson came in the other day and bought one of those books on Croatia that Dennis messed up the order for, theres only seven now." He flips bacon onto their plates and sticks the pan and egg-slide in the sink. "Oh and George wants to know if you'll sell him The Fountainhead yet."

"Absolutely not!" Stiles squawks. "That book is priceless, I'm gonna make my grandkids read it. It's in my _will_."

Derek smiles as he puts their plates on the table. "Thats what I told him. He still insisted you think about it."

"Ha!"

* * *

They eat in silence, Derek's knee bumping his under the table, he leans back casually when he's done.

"Your Dad wants us to come to dinner tomorrow night."

"Okay."

"Scott's got to be at the clinic till seven, but he's said he'll drop by after that. Apparently you agreed to a lunch date with Erica-" He gives Stiles a stern look "-this weekend."

"It was unavoidable! You know what happens when you leave me to fend for myself at Costco!"

Derek just makes a face.

"Oh shut up, she's pregnant, you're not allowed to say no to pregnant people."

Maude Meows from the floor, neck craned up to look at them.

Stiles stoops down to pick her up.

"Even Maude knows you're a sucker."

"Shut up, you love me."

Derek chuckles. "Not enough to do the dishes."

Stiles looks over at the sink sharply. "God dammit."

He pushes back from the table and picks up their plates, setting them in the sink and turns on the tap running it till the water gets hot.

Derek comes up behind him and slides his arms around his ribs "You love me."

Stiles feels him smile into his shoulder and sighs. "I do."


End file.
